The Forbidden
by Dreamcatcher7
Summary: Something ancient is rising in the bowels of the Earth. Is Buffy strong enough to defeat it? (Adult Content)
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

The tired glass finally gave up its fight against the raging storm outside and crashed inward sending shards scattering across the bare floor, swiftly followed by the torrential rain that flooded through the new aperture without hesitation.

       A thunderous crash rattled the weak foundations as lightning streaked across the dark sky, briefly illuminating the shabby interior of the old shack as the torn and ragged curtains hanging beside the now empty window frame twisted and lashed at the air under the relentless onslaught of the howling wind, reminiscent of dark flags hailing the power of the storm itself.

       In the darkest corner, beside an old chest of drawers, the motionless body of a tiny girl cowered, her legs pulled up against her chest like an oversized foetus.  Small spots of blood had appeared on the material of the long, white nightdress that she was wearing.  Splinters of glass from the window had found their way across the room and had embedded themselves into the soft flesh of her bare feet and shins.

The foundations shook again, but this time there was no accompanying thunder. Instead came a low rumbling growl that grew louder as the intensity of the vibrations increased.  

The girl pushed against the floor in an attempt to force herself further into the corner, but she was as far as she could go.  She looked up, the fear on her face painfully apparent and contorted by the eerie light that flashed periodically into the room, bestowing an impish quality upon her features.

The nails holding the wooden boards of the floor began to work loose, slowly at first, then gradually gaining momentum until they were literally shooting out of there resting place and striking the ceiling with enough force to leave an impression.  A crack appeared as the brittle floorboards bowed outwards, then another and another.  In a matter of seconds the centre of the room was engulfed by a flurry of splintering wood, large spear-like strips were flung in all directions as a dense clouds of dust spread like a choking fog, covering everything it touched with a blanket of thick black ash.  It cleared almost an instant later as a new sound blasted the room, a loud swirling noise, like a giant plug had been pulled from the ground and was trying to pull the world inside.  The darkness of the room was instantaneously obliterated as flames bellowed forth from the gaping hole that had been formed by the explosion.  There was no heat to the fiery tentacles that whipped across the room, feeling the surroundings, searching…

The girl stifled a scream as she watched the flames draw closer to her position.  She buried her face into her knees in an attempt to hide from the oncoming horrors.  Then…Silence. Lifting her head slowly, the young girl examined the room.  It was once again dark and the storm outside had ceased it barrage.  The only evidence of these events was the fissure in the floor that could only just be made out in the dim light.   She stood, as though mesmerized, staring in to the newly opened abyss.  Gradually she stepped closer, like a marionette drawn by an unseen force.  Eventually she reached the edge, eyes still locked on the darkness beneath her, unable to look away.  A flash of realisation crossed her face as she began to tumble forward, falling, helpless.  The darkness below engulfed her small body as she fell and she was gone.

From the depths, a large hooded figure levitated slowly upward until it was within inches of the ceiling.  The pit beneath dissolved and trickled away like oil, leaving the floor solid once more.

       "I know you are watching!"  The deep, gravely voice came. "I can feel you.  But know this….  I shall come and you will die!"

  


**Chapter 1**

"No!" She screamed as she sat bolt upright in bed, the sweat of fear trickled down her brow and dripped onto the damp sheets.  Her breath was shaky and her heart pounded in her heaving chest like it was trying to beat its way out of her body.  Her eyes, squinting in the light, darted around the room, looking for something out of place, something not quite right.  But nothing.  Everything was as it should be.

       She brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and took deep breaths to calm herself.  She sat, staring at the wall, trying to make sense of the horrific nightmare that had unfolded in her sleep.  What did it mean?  The hooded figure lingered in her memory. The face, hidden by shadow, even now sent a cold shiver down her spine as though she could feel the piercing gaze of its unseen eyes and sense the maliciousness of its being. 

She'd had dreams like this in the past, but never so vivid, so clear.  The haze that usually gave her the feeling of immunity was gone.  She felt naked, defenceless, but most importantly she felt fear.  It was as if she was truly a part of her own dream, like she could have reached out and touched the small girl, comforted her, protected her. 

A sudden sense of guilt hit her hard in the stomach, she convulsed.  She could feel the bile welling up in her throat.  Leaning over the side of her bed, she convulsed again. A stream of vomit spewed from her mouth, again she heaved and repeated the process, the only thought in her head – 

_Why didn't I save the girl, she was so small, so helpless.  I should've stopped her, kept her away…._

A loud knock on the bedroom door brought her thoughts back to the present.  She was slumped on her bed with her head still hanging over the edge. A thin line of mucus hung from her top lip, glinting in the sunlight like a spider web in the early morning dew.  She had been crying.  She could feel the drying tears on her cheeks and the puffiness of her eyes.  

_How long have I been like this?  _She wondered as she slowly sat up straight.  Her throat was sore and felt swollen.  Wiping her face with the bed sheet, she put an unsteady foot on the floor and tested her weight on it.  The knock came again.

"Hang on a sec!"  Her voice was hoarse.  Moving toward the door, she paused momentarily as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, then continued.

Upon reaching the door, she braced herself against the frame for support, and slowly turned the handle.

The teenage girl on the other side looked concerned, her big eyes, though bloodshot from tiredness, scanned the face of her older sister.  "Are you okay?  I heard strange noises."  Her voice was soft and slurred.  Her face screwed up as she grasped her nose between her thumb and forefinger  "And what is that awful smell?", She cringed.

"I'm okay."  Unwilling to go into the details of the nights events with her younger sibling, she quickly searched her mind for a plausible explanation.  "Just a bit of a stomach bug I think."       

"Are you sure?" Her sister, still holding her nose, enquired.

"Yeah, I'm fine.  Honestly!"

"Okay Buffy.  If you're sure."  She turned and headed toward the stairs.

"Dawn…" Buffy's voice was a touch more normal. Her younger sister turned back to face her, the worried expression she wore on her face was barely disguised by the small smile which spread hesitantly across her lips. "I love you."

"Where'd that come from?"  Came the puzzled reply.

"I just thought I'd let you know" The guilt from not saving the small girl still hung in her gut.

"Do you want some orange juice or maybe a coffee?"  Dawn stood by the refrigerator as Buffy entered the kitchen.  

"Huh?"  Still feeling a bit dazed, she pondered the question like it was a difficult algebra exam.  "I…I'm not sure I could stomach anything at the moment."  She mumbled as she finally realised what the question actually meant.  The thought of ingesting anything made her insides twist.  "Maybe later, okay?"

"Okay.  You go and sit down, take it easy for a while" The worried look was back on Dawn's face.  Looking at her, Buffy noticed how much she looked like her mother while wearing that expression.

After a couple of hours of aimlessly flicking from channel to channel trying to find something interesting to watch, Buffy resigned to the fact that meaningless drivel was the order of the day and turned the television off.  

"Feeling any better?"  Dawn walked into the room and sat gently down next to Buffy.

"A bit."  She replied after contemplating how she did actually feel.

"Maybe some fresh air would do you some good."  Dawn suggested.

"I don't know" Buffy pulled the curtain away from the window to look at the street outside.  "Although I do need to speak to Willow today."

"Why, what's the matter?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with." Buffy's words were distant; her thoughts were elsewhere as she spoke.  Out of the window she watched a small girl, dressed in a pretty birthday frock, playing across the street on her shiny new tricycle.

"Come on Buffy? Please?" Dawn's pleadings were wasted on her older sibling. Buffy's eyes had glazed over and she was lost in a world of her own.

**********

"Okay sweetie, don't worry I'll be right over!"  Willow placed the handset of the phone back into its cradle on the counter of the old magic shop.  She paused for a few seconds; contemplating the conversation she just had before turning to face Tara.  "That was Dawn," she raised her hand and placed it gently on Tara's arm, gently stroking the green woollen fabric of her cardigan as she spoke.   "She say's that Buffy's weirding out on her."   She bent her knees slightly as she reached down, lifted her bag from the floor and swung it easily over her shoulder in a well-practiced motion, letting it rest on her hip.

       "Weirding out?"  Tara, looking puzzled, tucked a loose tress of hair behind her ear as she searched Willow's wide, watery blue-green eyes with her own, looking for emotion in their depths.

       "Dawn said that she's been staring out of the window for the last hour and a half." She gave Tara a reassuring hug before she strode over to the table at which Giles sat, flipping through the pages of a particularly sombre looking tome.  

       "Is everything okay?"  He asked, looking up over the rim of his glasses.  The thick, mottled page between his fingers slid from his grasp as he became aware of the concern playing across Willow's face.  "What's the matter?"  The feeling of dread crept in. Filling his gut as it had a hundred times before.

       "It's Buffy," Her voice softened, trying not to worry Giles any more than was necessary.  "Dawn says she's acting a bit strange."

       Giles stood, removing his glasses as he did. The chair in which he sat squealed noisily as it moved backward across the wooden floor.  "Strange?  Strange how?"  His free hand instinctively reached for the jacket pocket, pulling free a small cloth.  

"Dawn said that she had been vomiting this morning and that she has been acting strange ever since she got up."  Willow paused, pondering her choice of words as Giles stood, gently massaging the cloth over the fragile glass lenses.  "She said that Buffy seemed…distant.  Now she is just staring out of the window.  Dawn thought she was watching a small girl across the road, but she went out with her parents half an hour ago and she's still standing there.  She's really worried about her."

       "We'd better get over there."  Giles finished cleaning the lenses of his spectacles and placed them back on the bridge of his nose. "It's best to be on the safe side."  He reached down and pulled the rough, leather bound cover of the book shut.  "Let me just put this away and I'll be right with you."  He lifted the large book with obvious effort and tucked it awkwardly under his arm before making his way to the bottom step of the narrow staircase that allowed access to the small mezzanine where the restricted books were kept.  Willow joined Tara by the door and waited.

       The bright sunlight was harsh in comparison to the dimly lit interior of the Magic Box, causing the trio to squint against its intensity as they stepped through the open door and onto the sidewalk.  Here and there, small pockets of people went about their daily business. Across the quiet road, a frustrated mother frog marched her ill-tempered son past the local convenience store to the face cringing cries of _'I wan' some candy!  S'not fair!'_

To their left, a small group of teenagers stood, loitering on the street corner.  Playing a game where they took it in turns to hit each other in the arm with all the strength they could muster, in a desperate attempt to prove their masculinity.  Two of the group had already taken a step back from the rest, briskly rubbing their deadened muscles, faces barely hiding the pain.  The one furthest away, a thin boy with bright copper hair, hair that was often the subject of his daily torment from his _friends,_ deftly covered the act of wiping away a tear with a mock yawn and stretch as the rest continued to pound each others flesh with their fists.

Giles reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a key.  It had a long cylindrical barrel, the tip covered in a series of unique bumps and indentations.  He gazed at the small object in his hand as a tiny smile pushed the edges of his mouth ever so slightly toward his cheeks.  He used his thumb to locate the correct button on the fob and, not so much as pushed, but squeezed gently.  The familiar electronic sounding _chirp, chirp_ of the alarm disengaging sounded, accompanied by the flashing of indicator lights.  Even after more than a year, he still couldn't believe that, he of all people had bought a BMW.  He remembered how he'd considered taking it back to the dealership to trade it in for a more practical model and the teething problems he'd had adjusting from his clapped out old Citroen.  Now? Now it was his pride and joy.  Instead of getting strange looks as he drove around the streets of Sunnydale, he was the recipient of envious stares and appreciative glances.  Even when he had left for England, supposedly never to return, he couldn't bring himself to part with it.  He'd put it into storage, planning to get it shipped over when he had settled down.

"Giles?"  Willow and Tara were already sitting in the car.

"Oh," Caught unawares by his daydream. He moved swiftly to the door and swung it open.  "Sorry.  I've got a lot on my mind" He was mildly annoyed at himself for having such thoughts at a time like this. Thoughts he thought best not to share with his companions.

"Are you okay?" Tara's soft voice filled Giles' ear as she lent forward from the back seat to bring her head level with her friends in the front.  Her hand sat gently on his shoulder.

       "I'm fine," Giles placed his hand on top of Tara's and gave it a light squeeze as he looked at her over his shoulder.  His eyes briefly caught Willow's as he turned back to face the front and he flashed a quick reassuring smile before bringing his head to face forward. "Honestly."

       The engine roared to life as he turned the key. Long gone, the days of coughing and spluttering as the motor struggled to start.  He moved the gear stick into _Drive _and pulled away from the kerb.  It wasn't long before they had joined the traffic and were heading at a steady pace towards Buffy's house. 

       Willow had been sitting quietly since they had started the journey, only occasionally looking up to see how far they had progressed.  A single thought had been occupying her mind.  _What if all of this is my fault? I should never have been so stupid! _She looked over at Giles. He was busy concentrating on the road ahead and didn't see the look on her face. A quick glance at Tara revealed that she was staring out to the side, watching the people and houses as they drifted past. She turned back to Giles.

       _'Giles?'_ He jumped nervously at the voice as it spoke to him from inside his own head. He knew who it was, but the sheer invasive nature of the occurrence always took him by surprise. 

       _'Willow!' _The look of annoyance on his face, the only sign of what was happening.  He concentrated on not speaking aloud.  _'I really wish you wouldn't do that when I'm driving!'  _He exhaled heavily through his nose.

       _'Sorry Giles, but this is important.' _She flashed an apologetic glance over toward him as he had turned to display his displeasure. _'I'm worried this could be an after effect of what I did.  What if this is just a sign of something worse?'_ Willow turned her head, displaying mock interest at a passing house, not wanting Tara to sense that anything was wrong.

       _'Well you said that you didn't complete the ritual.  Who knows what effects there could be?  We'll just have to tackle this the best we can.'  _Giles couldn't stay angry at Willow for long, although she had been reckless and stupid, performing the ritual to bring Buffy back from the dead.  He even admired her determination and courage to a certain degree.  But he couldn't help thinking that she was getting in way over her head with her witchcraft.  He had spent so much time with them over the last few years that he'd begun to develop a fatherly attachment to the members of the _'Scooby Gang' _as they affectionately liked to call themselves.  His job as a watcher had developed into something more.  Maybe the council was right.  Maybe his closeness to the Slayer and her motley gang of friends _had _clouded his judgment.  But the bond he had formed bound him too tightly to his charge.  Even when he was relieved of his duties and the replacement Watcher was dispatched, he could not bring himself to abandon them.  He had found that the mutual respect that they had built up through years of working together under some extreme circumstances gave them something that couldn't be replaced as easily as his role as Buffy's Watcher. Not by the likes of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.  No, not by a man who could be so detached, so insensitive.  He could never have given Buffy what she needed. Support and encouragement but above all else - love.  

       The rest of the journey was spent in contemplative silence as the streets glided by.  Each of them sat with their own thoughts, not feeling the need to speak.  Conversation at a time like this would have been forced and awkward.

       The car slowed as they approached their destination, rolled up alongside the kerb before finally coming to a halt.  They clambered out of the vehicle and slowly walked up the path to the porch.  The small sign on the wall that displayed the numbers 1630 went unnoticed.  The door opened as they approached.  Dawn rushed out and grabbed Willow around the waist, burying her head into her chest.  Willow stroked Dawn's long hair and uttered soothing words to the worried teenager.

       "She's in there."  Dawn lifted her hand and used her index finger to point into the living room. "I don't know what's wrong…She won't speak to me."

"Shh, It's okay sweetheart. We're here now."  They all moved inside shutting the door behind them.

**********

There was something not quite right about the dim alley.  Even in the bright midday sun long shadows clung to the dirty walls as if desperately holding on to the darkness that had long passed.  The cool chill in the air only reinforced the sense of deep foreboding that hung over it like the damp smell of rot from the months of old uncollected garbage and broken glass that piled up against the walls.  

       The crew from last refuse truck that ventured down this narrow passage had mysteriously vanished without a trace. Their truck, the only thing that was ever found, the only proof that they were ever there at all, had been left running for seven hours until somebody had finally discovered it, drivers door wide open, key still in the ignition, empty.  Ever since that fateful day two months ago, there had been no one willing or crazy enough to replace them.  And so the garbage continued to mount up, the large wheelie bins overflowing.  

Here and there, trails of footprints lead from the row of rusty metal doors that were spaced evenly at intervals along the wall furthest from the bins.  Those daring enough to attempt putting their garbage in neat piles leaving evidence of their bravery in the form of boot shaped imprints, solidifying in the mulch of rotten food and grease.  Accompanying these human tracks, were those of animals.  Stray dogs that had been lured in by the smell of an easy meal, their paw prints circling the piles of garbage, torn and shredded refuse sacks the indication of their search.  The light, almost invisible impressions of cats, searching for old bones or chasing the swiftly multiplying number of rats that were living the life of luxury in the quickly forming cesspit.

"Yeah, yeah!"  Midway along the wall one of the metal doors swung open, the rusty hinges loudly squealing in protest before slamming against the wall with a heavy metallic thud. "I'm doin' it for crying out loud!"

From the open doorway a young man appeared.  Around his feet he employed two grocery bags to cover his shoes, sealed firmly with a rubber band around the bottom of his jeans to keep the slime out.  In his hands were two fresh garbage bags, filled to the limit and threatening to burst with one false move.  He looked down, the contortion of his face signalling the utter revulsion he felt.  For a moment he stood to gain his composure, nearly vomited at the smell twice and took his first step toward the far wall.

Robert Birch was a hard working and under appreciated man.  It had been that way for most of his life.  Ever since he could remember he had been bullied or pushed into things he didn't want to do and now was no different.  

For six long years he had worked under Marlow Wilks, an overweight and overbearing pig of a man. Owner and ruler of his own little kingdom on Wilton Avenue, the amusingly named _'MARLOW'S MEAT MENAGERIE' _was the sum of his life's work.  A greasy diner that attracted next to no customers, apart from the occasional out-of-towner that was none the wiser.  The only reason that Marlow was allowed to continue trading was the fact that his younger brother was in a position of power at the local government and could pull a few strings when necessary.

"Haven't you done that yet?" A voice bellowed from somewhere inside.  Robert felt the annoyance begin to build up as it usually did and sighed.  

"Not yet."  He called back as he took another step forward, his foot slipped forward on the slick surface of mush.  "Damn," He muttered under his breath as he managed to regain his footing. "Why don't you come out here and do it?"  He knew he'd never have the guts to say it to Marlow's face, though he'd often imagine himself doing it.  Right before he imagined getting knocked all over the kitchens.

"I really don't know what I pay you for!"

_'Pay me?'_ Robert's fought the anger swelling in his head. Keeping his thoughts to himself was a struggle, but knew it was probably better that way.  His wage was by most standards pathetic.  Earning a measly four bucks an hour, the same wage as when he had started. _'I could earn more making running shoes in Asia!'_  All he could say was "Sorry Boss!" 

Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered going into work. Day in and day out he endured the same torturous routine.  The constant barrage of insults and remarks from Marlow was getting him down and now the twice-daily trip into this mess.  

His social life was in a sorry state, the six-day week he worked choking any possibility of enjoying time with his friends.  The same friends that stopped asking him to go out years ago, as they already knew his answer.  He ran errands for little or no gratitude, cleaned the kitchens, mopped the floors and on the odd occasion, he even done a bit of _'personal' _business for Marlow and his brother.  Sure, it was his job, but a bit of thanks wouldn't go amiss.

"Yeah, so you should be!"  The voice of Marlow drifted out of the door to Robert's ears.

"We should try and get something done about this lot out here!"  Having eventually moved close enough to the piles of putrid waste.  Robert placed both bags carefully on top and stepped back.

"Hey, It's not my problem!  Let some other goodie-two-shoes sort it out!"  The tone of Marlow's voice, one of sheer indifference.

"Whatever you say Boss."  The words were half-hearted; the thought of having to do this again at the end of the day was almost too much to think about.  It had gotten so bad recently that he would have to shower at least twice to get the rancid smell from his hair.

He turned back slowly to head for the door.  Something in the corner of his eye moved.  He focused on the spot where he had seen it, just to the right of the wheelie bin at the furthest end of the alley.  Nothing.  '_Probably just a rat or something.' _He decided as he swatted a lone fly from his face.  It dawned on him that something was out of the ordinary here…a single fly…an alley full of rotting garbage…"Where the hell are all the flies?"  His own voice surprised him.  Again there was movement in the corner of his eye.  "Screw this!"  He made for the door, slowly and carefully planning his next step.  It was the sound he heard that distracted him from his task.  Ever so quiet, but in the silence of the alley he heard it, along with the sound of his own heartbeat.  It was a strange noise. A sound that he couldn't quite place.  Curiosity getting the better of him, he changed direction.  This far from the wall of garbage he could move a bit faster and moved cautiously toward the far end of the alley.  As he approached the noise grew slightly louder. _Crunch, crunch, crunch. _

       Steadily he approached, uncertain that he should even be doing it at all.  As he reached the bin, the smell in the air changed.  No longer was it the stench of rotting vegetables and processed food…No…Now it was the nauseating stink of rotting flesh.

       He rounded the side of the large wheelie bin and felt his skin crawl at the sight before him.  A writhing mass of blackness made from a mixture of hundreds of cockroaches, varying in size from a penny right up to a disturbing four inches.  Intermingled with these were the missing flies, crawling and buzzing around in their thousands, waiting for a chance to get at the booty beneath them.  At the edge of this heaving multitude of filth sat three rats, eagerly snatching at the all-you-can-eat buffet on offer. _Crunch, crunch.. _One of the rats chewed noisily on an unfortunate cockroach.  Every now and then a small gap would appear in the almost solid mass.  There was something underneath, material of some kind.  Another gap formed.  White material, or what used to be white.  Now it was a stained, bloody mess.

       Robert, although on the verge of relinquishing his breakfast to the repulsive sight before him, wanted to know what was concealed beneath this black shield of living insects.  He grabbed an old newspaper that hung out from the top of the bin and rolled it up as he took a step closer, near enough to sweep it across the gruesome swarm.

       He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his sleeve to prepare himself.  He leant forward and with a quick flick of his wrist he parted the throng of insects.  An action he would regret for the rest of his life.  The horror that lay beneath stopped the heart in his chest as the blood drained from his face with alarming speed. Scrambling backward, he slipped, falling into the filth beneath him.  His feet continued to lash out against the slick surface, slowly pushing himself up against the wall, the bags on his feet coming away in strips as he tried to get further away.  A small amount of cognitive thought returned to him as he fought his way back onto his feet and ran, slipping and sliding, for the open door.  The vision of what he had seen staying in his mind like a living nightmare.  Looking back over his shoulder to ensure that it hadn't all been a hallucination caused by the gases emanating from all of the rotting garbage, he ran head first into Marlow.

       "What the hell are you screaming for?"  Robert hadn't even realised he had been screaming, all he could do was whimper like a frightened child at the feet of this big man and point to the far corner. "What?"  Marlow looked to the place his gibbering employee was signalling toward, he squinted, just about able to make out the multitude of swarming insects.  "What?  It's a few cockroaches! What do you expect? Look at the mess out…he..." That's when he saw it, just before it was completely engulfed under the black mass…a hand…the hand of a small child…  He looked down at Robert; panic was not a feeling that he was accustomed to.  A hundred thoughts rushed into his head in the same instant as his heart pounded painfully in his chest.  His breathing began to labour as he turned and lurched toward the front of the diner in an attempt to reach the phone, his hand grasping at his chest as his other arm flailed wildly in the air trying to maintain balance.  Kitchen utensils were sent cluttering to the deck as he knocked containers and pots from their set places.  The searing pain dropped him to his knees, smashing his head into the solid corner of the worktop and splitting his skull with a bone-crunching thud.  He slid to the floor and lay face down as a pool of thick blood oozed from his injury.  His slobbery and out-right laziness having eventually got the better of him.  

       Robert remained kneeling in the doorway, his mind numbed to the dead man laying only yards in font of him.  Finally he gave up the ghost and emptied the contents of his stomach into the rotten slush in the alley.

**********

       After some physical manipulation and a bit of collaboration, Willow, Tara, Giles and Dawn looked down at Buffy, triumphant in their efforts to get her to come away from the window. Buffy sat on the couch, hands hanging loosely by her sides.  She was still, almost to the point of rigidity.  The only sign of life was the gentle rise and all of her chest as she sat, staring, wide eyed, through her friends at the opposite wall.  

       "Are you sure you didn't rebuild the Buffy bot?"  Dawn's inquisitive eyes searched Willow's face.

       Willow, at first didn't understand why Dawn asked such a seemingly unrelated question.  Then looking at Buffy, she realised her point.  "Dawn."  Her voice hid a hint of anger.  _How could she think that?_  "No, of course not honey."  Looking at the faces of her companions, she knew that they too had considered it as a feasible explanation. "I can understand why you thought it though."  She added to comfort Dawn, who was on the verge of tears again.  It had taken her and Tara a good half an hour to calm her down the first time and the last thing she wanted was to upset her again.

       "Hmm, This is very odd."  Giles stated as he leant forward to snap his fingers in front of Buffy's unmoving face.  Nothing.  Not even the smallest of flinches.  "You say she was sick this morning?"  He had turned to face Dawn.

       Fighting back the urge to burst into another fit of tears. _How could she ever become a member of the 'Scooby Gang' if she cried at everything bad that happened?  That's if Buffy ever let her… _"Uh-huh."  Was all she could get past her lips.

       "I'll go and have a look in Buffy's room.  You three…sorry, four stay down here." He headed towards the front door before he turned left and began ascending the stairs.  "And I wouldn't say no to a cup of tea!"  He called back down behind him.  It was only Willow who appreciated that he was trying to lighten the mood. 

       Giles pushed the door wide and grimaced as the smell of stale vomit drifted into his nostrils.  Inside, the room was tidy except for the nightie that had been placed in a heap on the end of the bed.  The only indication of the morning's events was a discoloured damp patch on the carpet.   Never having been a person that accepts things at face value, he began to search the room.  He noticed the large chest at the bottom of the closet almost immediately as he opened the door.  Pulling it out, he flicked the catches open and lifted the lid.  Inside he lifted the false top and uncovered her stockpile of weaponry.  Of course, this was her reserve stock.  As a result of having too many uninvited 'guests' in the house, she now kept a good array of weapons hidden from view at various strategic points around the house.   Having found nothing in the closet that would indicate any foul play, he moved over to the dresser.  On the top, Buffy's usual array of make-up stood unused. The drawers contained nothing of interest or anything to cause suspicion, so he made his way over to the bed.  Getting down an all fours, he placed his head against the floor to get a good look underneath.  Still nothing. Some old magazines and some dust, but nothing more was hidden in the dimness.  The chest of drawers was next.  Giles was getting frustrated as he rummaged through drawer after drawer of nothing.  He looked around the room, searching.  With a defeated sigh sat down heavily onto the bed.

       "Have you eaten yet?" Willow's hand stroked Dawn's long hair as she comforted her.

       "No, not yet." Dawn shrugged as she answered.  "I'm not really hungry."

       "You've got to eat sweetie." Tara joined in.  "Even if it's only something little."

       "I know I should, but I'm not really in the mood right now."  Her eyes moved briefly to Buffy, still sitting on the couch looking like a mindless automaton, before coming back to Tara.

       "Do you think you could manage some pancakes?"  Willow laid her hand gently on Dawn's shoulder as she smiled sympathetically at her.

       "With honey?" Dawn's face brightened. As did Willow's. 

       "With honey." 

       "It's a deal!"  Willow wrapped her arm around Dawn's waist as they headed for the kitchen, giving Tara a wink as she passed.  Tara mouthed the words _'I love you'_ in return before she followed behind.

       Upon entering the kitchen, Tara gracefully moved around the counter and pulled out the frying pan and a mixing bowl. "Do you want rounds or shapes?"

       "Um…I'll have r…" A harsh banging on the back door interrupted Dawn's answer.  As they looked over, they could see a sight that was rapidly becoming familiar.  The figure, a hunched man with a blanket covering his head.  Willow moved to the door and turned the latch before swinging it open.

       The figure lurched inside, banging into the counter, the mixing bowl bounced off of the other side and skidded across the floor.  "Bloody hell!" 

       "Spike!  Be careful!"  Willow scolded.

       "Sorry sweetheart, but in case you hadn't noticed," He removed the blanket and stood up straight.  "My bloody hand's on fire!"  He held his hand up to Willow; the skin blistered and bubbles before her eyes.

       "Eww, Spike, put it away!"  He dropped his hand to his side. "What are you doing here?  I suppose you were just passing…again?"

       Spike composed himself and straightened his jacket. "I thought I'd drop in and check on my favourite girl."  He turned to Dawn and flashed her a smile with a quick wink.  "You okay little bit?"

       "I am, but Buffy's being really strange." She used her thumb to signal over her shoulder towards the living room.

       "Strange? Let's have us a little look-see, shall we."  He strode around the counter and out through the door. The girls in the kitchen hurriedly followed.  

       Spike knelt in front of Buffy and looked her up and down, taking in every inch of her.  He locked his gaze on her dilated pupils with his ice blue eyes. He stared, unblinking for a moment. "She's in there."  He looked over his shoulder at the audience that stood behind him. "She's just hiding."  Turning back, he moved his face closer until the tip of his nose touched hers.  He brought his hands up and took a firm grip on her upper arms as if preparing to shake her.  

       "Spike…"

       "Shhh pet, let's see if I can get her out."  His voice was gentle…caring. Adjusting his position he leant his head to one side then the other.

       "What's he doing?" Dawn looked to Willow for an answer.

       "I don't know sweetie," She was just as perplexed as her young companion.  "Let's wait and see."  They watched Spike move slightly back from Buffy and bring himself up into a crouching stance.  The look of concentration on his face was set as he opened his mouth to speak…

       "BUFFY! HEY PRINCESS! WAKEY WAKEY!"  Buffy snapped back into reality, panicked and sent Spike flying across the room with a hard kick to the chest. She jumped to her feet, ready for battle.

       "Buffy!" Dawn stepped forward to her sister, held back only by a wary Willow.  Buffy was confused, disoriented and potentially dangerous.  

       "For Christ's sake!" Spike gathered himself together as he sat in a heap against the wall.  "Help someone out and what do they do? They treat you like a bloody punch bag!  Ta very much!"  He smoothed his hair with his palms, pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and drew one out with his teeth. 

       "What's happening?" Giles appeared in the doorway, clutching something small in is hand.  "What's all the shouting abo…Buffy!"  Buffy had turned to face him, her senses slowly returning.  "What…how...are you alright?" Giles stepped closer.  The thing that he held in his hand distracted Buffy's attention.  Her reaction was immediate.  Her hands shot up and covered her mouth, stifling a whimper.

       "What's that?" Dawn had left Willow and walked over to Giles.  She pointed to his hand.

       "I don't know. I found it under Buffy's pillow."  He held up the object.  It was a finely made doll.  A doll of a female child…a child wearing a white nightdress.  A nightdress stained with flecks of blood… 


	2. Chapter 2

****

**Chapter 2**

       Xander wiped the sweat from his forehead before rolling over onto his back, exhausted and out of breath.  "Sorry An, honey," He squeezed out in between breaths. "I just can't keep going."

       "Are you sure?" Her disappointment was obvious as she turned to face him. "Another couple of minutes and you would've been there…Please?"  She lay on the bed, her eyes pleading with his as she gently bit her bottom lip.

       "You know I love making you happy sweetheart and I know how much you enjoy it, but I really can't.  I wish I could, but I'm so worn out."  His bare chest heaved as the sweat glistened on his skin, the occasional droplet trickling down the side of his torso. He faced the ceiling, before letting out a loud sigh.  

       "Well…okay."  She picked up a small book from the bedside table and flicked a couple of pages before sitting up excitedly.  "This one looks good!  Maybe you could have a go at it later?" 

       "Ah, come on An.  I've already done pages thirteen through twenty-six today.  Maybe tomorrow, okay?  I mean I'm not the Duracell bu…er...battery thing."  He looked at Anya's face as the excitement left her eyes to be replaced with acceptance of defeat, her lips pushed out into a pout.  He smiled a little; she looked so cute when she did that.

       "Tomorrow then." She crawled onto her front and lay across the bed with her face perched between her hands, her elbows resting on the edge.  She looked at Xander lying on the floor.  "You know I love watching you exercise.  All the flexing muscles and the sweating."  She smiled down at him, her small camisole top exposing a large portion of her breasts, which caught Xander's attention.

       "Well maybe there's one more exercise I could manage."  The familiar look in his eye informed Anya just what he was thinking.  She adjusted herself slightly, pushing her chest out at him.

       "What might that be then?"

       "Well, It would involve a lot of muscle flexing…" Xander grinned.  "And most likely some sweating."

       "But honey, I thought you were to worn out?"  She enjoyed playing this game, teasing Xander with her body.  She knew he enjoyed it too.

       "Well, you could come here and help me out?"  He extended his hand to her.  Anya rolled onto her side and swung her legs around over the edge of the bed, placing her feet on the floor as she brought her body upright. Slowly she stood.  

       Xander's eyes took in her body.  From her feet, over her smooth calves, up over her toned thighs and her slender hips, past her midriff and her pert breasts, her soft neck and finally to her face, where she looked back at him suggestively.  She wore only a small pair of black, lacy knickers that matched her camisole.  Xander watched intently as she walked over to him and stood astride his legs, taking his hand in hers.

       "Ready?"  Anya began to pull on Xander's arm in an attempt to help him to his feet.       But instead of accepting her assistance, he pulled back, bringing Anya down on top of him. "Xander!" She squealed as he pulled her closer, their faces only inches apart.

       "How are you liking the exercising so far?"  He kissed the tip of Anya's nose before pressing his lips to hers, relishing in their soft, warm moistness.  Anya's hand curled around the back of his head, pulling him up so that their kiss became more passionate.  He could feel the blood coursing through his veins; the adrenalin surge from his excitement giving him renewed vigour.  Anya groaned as she felt his arousal pushing between her legs.

       "Mmm, Xander," She whispered into his ear, her voice low and full of pleasure. "You should've said."  She pushed her hips back into him, increasing the pressure on his groin.

His hands grasped at her hips as he pushed against her. Resuming their kiss, their lips parted as the passion grew, tongues intertwined, fluids mingled, their embrace growing tighter.   Xander could feel her heat against his hardness.  His hand slid from her hip and traced a route over her smooth skin, along her spine.  She arched her back and quivered in reaction to his touch.  His fingers moved underneath the flimsy material of her loose top and continued round to her side, just brushing the sensitive skin of her swollen breast. A small gasp escaped her mouth.

Anya sat up straight and looked down with lustful eyes.  She crossed her arms in front of her as she took hold of her top, lifting it, slowly up over her head, exposing herself to her lover.  She reached down, took hold of Xander's hands and lifted them to her chest.  He encompassed her flesh, the hard buds of her aroused nipples pushed into his palms as he gently squeezed.  She placed her hands flat on his chest as she began to rhythmically move her hips back and forth.  The feeling of his hardness rubbing against her moist, excited sex through the layers of material sent a tingle through her body.

Xander brought himself up to her, kissing her neck and running his tongue over her salty skin.  He reached down with one hand, caressing her thigh and gliding onto her firm buttock.  Her movements became more agitated as he kissed down her neck, over her well-defined collarbone and onto the swell of her breast.  He continued further still, his mouth deliberately avoiding the tight flesh of her areole.

Anya, not wanting to be teased, reached behind his head and guided him to her nipple, which he took eagerly into his hot mouth.  His tongue danced across the erect pink tip as he felt a small shiver of pleasure run through her body.  She arched back, pushing her breast to him as her hand reached behind and found his muscular thigh.  Moving up his leg and over his boxer shorts, squeezing the base of his erect manhood through the thin material.  Xander's whole body stiffened with anticipation.

Anya took control, comfortable in a more dominating role.  He placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him backward, laying him flat on his back.  She leant forward and began to kiss his chest, her soft lips barely touching his skin.  He moaned her name as her mouth reached his nipple. Her tongue darted over the small bump of hardened flesh before trailing across his breastbone and treating the other nipple to the same pleasure.  She began to move down his body, her mouth kissing and occasionally biting gently as she descended.  Hooking her fingers under the waistband of is underwear; she eased them down over his buttocks and thighs, his rigid shaft stood exposed as she closed in on it.  Xander trembled. He could feel her hot breath only an inch from his throbbing erection. The anticipation was overwhelming. She lowered her head and extended her moist tongue and then slowly she glided it up the length of his shaft.  His hips bucked at the sensation.  Bringing her head up, her lips parted as she hovered over the tip, teasingly close. There she stayed for a minute, watching Xander shiver with excitement, before sliding her moist lips over the tip of his hardness, using her tongue to swirl around the hot flesh in her mouth. He tensed, all the muscles in his body becoming rigid.  His fingers dug into the carpet, trying to grip the floor as if hanging on for dear life.  Anya rolled her tongue around, teasing his glands with its snake-like dance. Finally she lowered her head, his large shaft filling her mouth completely.  Underneath her, Xander's legs twitched in ecstasy.  She built a rhythm, slowly at first, then gradually increasing her pace.  Her head bobbed as she pleasured her lover.

The minutes she spent doing this, Xander was in heaven.  The familiar feelings that started to tingle in his testicles as they tightened warned him of impending climax.  He sat up and, with a twinge of regret, gently pulled Anya up to face him.  

The kiss that followed was passionate and full of hunger for each other. He pulled his legs from beneath her and stood up, removing his boxers completely in the process. He bent down to Anya and placed an arm around her back, his hand resting below her armpit.  His other arm curled under her knees.  With hardly any effort made, he swept Anya from the floor and cradled her in his arms. He stared into her eyes as he slowly walked over to the bed, where he placed her down gently. He lay almost on top of her, taking his weight on one arm as he pressed his lips to hers.  His leg moved between hers, meeting little resistance as she parted them slightly. His free hand wandered down to the cleft of her thighs, there to press the thin material of her knickers against the moist heat of her arousal.  A soft moan escaped her lips as she parted her legs further.  Xander ran his fingers along the seam of her underwear before slipping them underneath.  His heartbeat increased as his probing digits were met by the creamy wetness between her legs.  

He teased around the fleshy outer lips before sliding a finger inside.  She writhed in ecstasy at his touch, her internal muscles squeezing his finger.  She wanted him inside her. But Xander had other plans.  

He moved his head to her swollen breasts, where he pleasured each nipple in turn, flicking his tongue across the hardened flesh. He continued onward toward her stomach, kissing her navel before easing his fingers under the lacy band of her underwear.  He slowly removed the item of clothing and knelt on the floor.  He turned his attention to her feet, caressing them and kissing their soles.  Anya's breathing had become heavy and laboured under the onslaught of sensations that raced through her body.  Xander moved up her legs, kissing over her smooth ankles and up her calves.  He reached the back of her knees and with a knowing smile, traced his tongue across the crease, pausing at the small pit and tickling it with his tongue.  Anya squirmed as Xander continued up the inside of her thighs, the soft warm flesh heaven beneath his lips.  Her scent was in his nose as he reached the tops of her legs; she lay on display to him, her glistening sex crying out for attention. 

His hands gently parted her, exposing the tender flesh of her most intimate opening, the swollen bud of her clitoris tempting his eager tongue.  Anya's body trembled as he took the small protuberance between his lips, gently adding pressure while lightly circling the tip with his tongue.  He added to the sensation by pushing one finger, then two inside her.  The rhythm of his hand coupled with his oral skills brought Anya to a shuddering climax, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave as her legs clamped around Xander's head. He continued pleasuring her until she was overcome with the need for something more.  Now she had to have him inside her, she couldn't wait any longer; she needed to feel his presence inside her body.

She pulled Xander up, the pleading in her eyes telling him what she needed. He positioned himself at her entrance, the soft tip of his manhood pressing against the fleshy folds of her labia.  Slowly and gently he began to ease into her, his wide shaft spreading her open.  Her legs crossed behind him and pulled him into her, his manhood buried deep inside her pulsating channel.  She wanted it hard, she often felt that way after a long bout of foreplay.  

With her legs she dictated the rhythm that she wanted, Xander only to happy to comply kept going after she let her feet drop back to the bed.  He hooked his arms under her knees so that they sat in the crease of his elbow as their lovemaking became more frantic.  He thrusted deep into her, his pace quickening as they both neared climax, their bodies becoming one entity, united in their ecstasy.  With his final thrusts Anya screamed her elation as the orgasm shot through every nerve in her body as he filled her with his seed.

They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, exhausted. The waves of pleasure still rolled over their bodies, a gentle reminder of the heaven that they had just visited.  Slowly, they began drifting off to sleep, still entwined in each other.

A light rapping at the door woke them.  Xander sat up, still tired from all the physical energy he had depleted earlier. "Uh," He rubbed is eyes.  "Who can that be?"  He climbed out of bed and pulled on a bathrobe before heading to the door.

**********

The newly painted grey-blue interior walls of Sunnydale's Police Department radiated a coldness that was barely compensated for by the ancient wall-mounted heater that rattled contentedly as it hummed with electricity.  It had been a warm day, but the temperature outside had somehow failed to penetrate the building's sterile interior and now as the sky grew darker the chill in the air became even more noticeable.   Just inside the main entrance, stretching along the wall was an uncomfortable looking wooden bench, capable of seating more than twenty, but tonight, only two people were on it's cold, hard surface.

 Above the bench, a yellow sign dictated that no loitering was permitted. Directly below, in a blatant act of defiance, an ageing homeless man had sprawled onto the bare wood in an attempt to use it as his bed for the night, the smell of stale whiskey and beer the only things keeping him company.  Perched at the very end, giving her co-habitant the occasional disdainful glance, sat a middle-aged lady who had come in to report the terrible murder of her cat and was waiting for an officer to come and take her statement. 

It had been remarkably quiet for a Saturday night.  The usual phone calls that came in their dozens, frequently regarding some weird and fantastical creature running rampage through someone's garden or house, never came.  All-in-all Officer Davis had answered the phone three times while he sat at the reception counter, carefully stacking and re-stacking the paperwork in front of him. 

The last call had been over an hour ago and he had resigned himself to the fact that his shift was going to last forever. So he got comfortable, putting his feet up on the small pedestal that he had pulled from beneath the desk and fumbling through the assortment of magazines that he kept in a small pile behind the counter.  He sat back and relaxed after making his choice, his head just high enough to see if anyone approached.  

Halfway through reading an interesting article on the mating habits of the Praying Mantis, a car screeched to a halt outside, grabbing his attention.  Swinging his feet from the makeshift footrest, he stood up and dropped the still open magazine onto the top of it.  He craned his neck to try and see what was going on, only to find that the action was taking place just around the corner of the doorway.  He decided to take a look and moved decisively around the barrier between him and the entrance hall       and over to the threshold.

Outside he saw a tall man, his face filled with rage.  He had left his car in a hurry, the engine still running, as it stood sideways across the road, blocking the whole lane.  Two police officers were trying to calm him down with little success.

"LET ME SEE HIM!" The anger was clear in his voice as he charged in an effort to break through the mini barrier that the two officers had created between him and the doorway.

"Now just take it easy!" One of the officers continued to try and calm him.

"NO, I WON'T TAKE IT EASY! THAT BASTARD IN THERE KILLED MY LITTLE GIRL!" 

The look of recognition crossed their faces. "Mister...Thompson?"

"YES! NOW LET ME IN! I'M GONNA KILL THE SONOFABITCH!" He barged the first officer with his shoulder, knocking him to the ground.  The second officer reluctantly drew his baton and brought it down on the back of Mr. Thompson's knees, sending him sprawling across the ground.  Davis ran to assist, pulling the handcuffs from his utility belt as he approached.  He arrived as the second officer pinned the distraught man to the ground.  Davis snapped one cuff around the thrashing wrist of Mr. Thompson and pulled it up behind his back before making a play for the second arm.  Once in place the cuffs did their job of keeping his hands restrained, but the sheer determination of the grieving father took them by surprise.  He struggled relentlessly, finally shaking off his repressors as he staggered to his feet, his large frame and build, powered by pure anger and grief, too strong for the officers to keep down.  Unhindered, he charged into the station, past the reception, his eyes darting from left to right, looking for the right path.  He saw what he wanted and ran down the long corridor leading to the cells.

"Shit!" Davis scrambled to his feet and followed as fast as he could.  

The detention area was quiet but for the sound of someone approaching at speed, running.  Only one of the cells was occupied, the detainee sat huddled on the lower bunk, rocking slowly, trying to comfort himself by pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind.  A long sliver of drool hung from his lip as he wiped his tired, tear-filled eyes with the back of his hand.

"What the hell are you crying for you sick bastard?"  The large figure of the man that blocked the light from the cell must have stood at least six and a half feet tall.  "What possible reason could you have?" His voice grew louder.

"I didn't do anything…I…I…"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"  

"Mr. Thompson…that's enough!"  Davis spoke from behind him.

"I haven't even started yet!  I'm not gonna stop until I see this piece of filth dead!" The anger spilling out of him was almost tangible.

"This is your last warning.  Mr Thompson, please step away now!"  Davis couldn't manage to voice his authority with any degree of effectiveness.

"Just piss off and leave me alone with this scum!"

While filled with sympathy for the grieving man, Davis grew annoyed at his tone.  He lifted his hand, which contained a small black box and pressed the red button on top.  A thin wire shot forth, flying across the room.  The tiny hooks on the end tore through material and embedded themselves in the muscular back of Mr. Thompson, followed a split second later by fifty thousand volts of electricity.  The large man jerked and convulsed as the current flowed through his body before his legs buckled underneath him, his large mass crashing into the hard stone floor, still twitching.

Davis kneeled beside the unconscious man, feeling his throat for a pulse, checking that he was still alive.  He looked over to the cell.  "You're lucky you were locked in there." He spoke to the cowering man on the bunk.

"Who…who is he?" The feeble voice came back, choking from fear.

"This," Davis pointed to the still body on the floor.  "Is Mr. Thompson, father of Jessica Thompson.  You remember her don't you?  She was the little girl you murdered."

"But I…I didn't kill anyone." The man pleaded from his confines.

"Yeah and I've never heard that one before." Davis stood as his fellow officers entered.  They gathered around the large man on the floor and with effort lifted him and slowly moved him down the corridor, past the board on the wall that listed the inhabitants of each cell.  The only name on scribbled the board…_Robert Birch._

**********

       Xander pushed the door to the Magic Box and it swung inward with a light creak, the light jingles of the bell announcing the arrival.  He stood, holding the door for Anya as she stepped into the dim light of the interior. He followed closely behind, the door swinging back behind him before jarring and flying back inwards as Spike barged through in the door. "Bloody ponce!" He aimed his derisive comment at Xander.

       "Ah, bite me!" Came the swift retort. "Oh, you can't can you? Poor wittle Spikey got no fangs." The sarcasm was scathing.

       "You're first when I get this soddin' chip out my head!"  He walked up to Xander and came face-to-face, glaring at him.

       "Back it up momma's boy!" Xander shoved Spike backward, his bravado stemming from the fact that his antagonist couldn't hurt him.

       "Will you two grow up?  I can't take much more of your macho posturing!"   Buffy sat at the table, the rest of the gang sat around it. Books were stacked in their dozens on the surface in front of them.  Xander and Spike stood, heads hanging down, looking like a couple of scolded children.

       "So, what's with the Scooby meeting?" Xander finally spoke after a moment of contemplative silence.  "Another big boogie man looking to find the wrong end of a stake?"  He aimed the last word to the blonde vampire standing next to him.

       "We don't really know what it is we're looking for." Giles snapped another book shut as he spoke. "Buffy had a dream, possibly a vision.  But we think it might have something to do that."  He extended a finger and guided the new arrivals eyes to the small, bloodstained doll sitting on the counter across the room.

       "What the hell is that?"  Spike walked over to the small toy, pulling his cigarette packet from his coat.

       "Man that's spooky!" Xander stated from where he stood.  "It didn't come alive or anything did it?  'Cause I saw this film once where there were a load of little doll things and they all came to life and started…"

       "No, it didn't come to life Xander.  It was under my pillow." Buffy stood, trying to avert her eyes from the doll, which was now in Spike's hands.

       "Oh great, that's just dandy."  Spike lit the cigarette in his mouth.  "Now you're organising a lost and found centre for children's toys.  What next? A home for mistreated pets?"

       Buffy looked at him while he spoke, watching the way he moved.  Rousing a desire in her body that she fought to repress.  For all the loathing she had felt for him in the past, she was physically attracted to him, his power…his darkness. She spoke, more out of reflex than anything else.

       "Shut up Spike!"

       "Sorry Slayer, is it your turn to play?"  Buffy froze as Spike casually tossed the doll in her direction.  "Here you go then pet."  The soft toy hit her square in the chest and fell to the floor.  All she could do was stare down at it with a blank face, vaguely aware of all the eyes focused on her.  Images of the dream began to flash through her mind, the small girl…falling, disappearing into nothingness.  "Not again you don't!" Her thoughts were snapped back to the present as Spike took her face between his hands.  "Don't want you drifting off into neverland again do we pet?"

       "Uh? Oh, yeah.  Sorry."  Buffy, still slightly dazed, slumped back down into the chair behind her and leant on the table.

       Willow reached across the table and laid her hand on Buffy's, feeling overwhelming concern for her friend.  Buffy seemed weakened by the whole experience. "Are you okay?"  She squeezed her companion's hand gently.

       "I'll be fine Will."  Buffy managed a slight smile, but the rest of her face betrayed her inner fears.  "The dream was a bit unnerving, that's all."  She squeezed back, trying to assure her friend that all was okay.

       Buffy spent a few minutes filling Xander and Anya in on her experience as they sat at the table, listening intently.  

       "Man, that's horrible!" Xander exclaimed when Buffy had finished.

       Anya interjected.  "Yes, almost as bad as the dead child they found today." 

       The rest of the group stopped scouring the page of the books in front of them and looked at Anya. 

       "What child?"  Giles questioned.

       "It was on the news earlier.  A child was found dead in an alleyway behind Wilton Avenue this morning."  She looked back at them, their faces full of apprehension.  "What?"

       "Is there anything else you can tell us?  What did she look like?  What was her name?" Giles removed his glasses.

       "Well," Anya spoke, hesitantly  "I think her name was Jenny…No.  Jessica…Jessica Thompson!  Yes that's it Jessica Thompson.  They didn't really give out any other information."  She grinned at the others, pleased with herself for remembering the name.  Then, realising that this wasn't a moment to be happy, dropped the expression from her face.

       "When did this hap..." Giles' question was cut off midway.

       "She was five years old." 

       "That's terrible. Anya, do you remember anything else?"  Giles pushed on the table as he rose to his feet.

       "No, I don't think there was anything else."

       "Maybe this is connected."  Willow looked up at Giles.  "What if it's the little girl in Buffy's dream?"

       "We'll have to make some inquiries.  See what we can find out about this girl."  He thought for a moment.  "I'll go and see what information I can get from the police.  Willow, can you look on the computer?  See if you can find anything on there."  He turned to the Slayer.  "Buffy, you should go and patrol as normal.  Keep an eye out for anything untoward.  Take Spike with you.  We can't be too careful if this thing is real."  He moved away from the table.  "The rest of you should look through the books.  See if you can find out what this thing is."  He gathered his jacket from the counter and pulled it on.  "I'll try not to be too long."  

       "Call us if you find out anything."  Willow called out as he headed for the door.

       "Don't worry, I will."  With that he opened the door and stepped outside. A cool, refreshing breeze poured in through the brief opening before it closed behind him.

       They all sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other before Buffy got to her feet.  "I'd better go too.  Spike, are you coming?"

       "Lead the way pet." He gestured toward the door.  Striding purposefully to the door, Buffy turned just as she pulled the handle, leaving the door slightly ajar as she spoke.

       "Everybody be careful. If you see this thing…run. Run as fast as you can!"  She waited for acknowledgement of her statement from the others.

       "You got it Buffster!" Xander volunteered after a tense pause. "You watch your back. You never know what sort of blood-sucking scum is roaming around in this town." He cast a sharp glance at Spike, who scowled in return before walking through the now open door.

       "Bloody wanker!" Spike muttered out loud, but not meaning for it to be heard.

       "Excuse me?" The Slayer looked directly at his pale face, noticing the skin of his jaw pulled taut as his face contorted with frustration. 

       "Well…C'mon, What d'ya expect? That puffed up ponce has been riling me from the word go." He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled the nearly empty cigarette pack from its dark confines. "I need to get me some smokes." 

       "Fine. Over there." She pointed at the small store that was still open on the corner. "How do you think people are going to react? Not so long ago you would have been at our throats given half a chance! You can't expect people to change because of a chip in your head.  It's going to take more than that. It's going to take time. Remember…Patience is a virtue."

       "Hello? Vampire? Virtue's ain't really one of my strengths love."  His lips curled into a sarcastic grin as he began to cross the road.  'But time," he shouted as reached the other side "Now time is something I've got a load of."

       "Though I'm not sure I can say the same about me." Buffy muttered to herself as she continued to stroll along the sidewalk.

**********

Willow turned from her laptop. "Well I can't find anything that matches Buffy's description." She sighed as she shrugged her shoulders.  "Apart from the obvious references to the Grim Reaper.  But there's no decisive information on him. Just a bunch of arguments on message boards about whether he was a Greek God called Kronos who chopped off his father's…" A look of embarrassment flashed across her innocent face as her eyes motioned downward. "Err…Manparts." She continued "Or just the plain old, run of the mill Angel of Death.  How about you guys? Anything?"

Xander was still wincing with his legs clamped together when Willow asked the question.  "May I just take a second here to say _– _Ouch! And may I add …" He screwed his face into a painful grimace and inhaled sharply through his pursed lips. "

"Well if it's him, I want you to stay well away Xander.  I like your penis where it is." Anya interjected bluntly. A small grin spread across Willow's face.  

"Don't worry sweetheart.  If it turns out to be Mr Slicendice then you can contact me at my summer house in The-hell-outta-here!" Xander closed the book he had been searching through and placed it on top of the pile that he had already gone through.  There were only a few books left that might have any information in them.  He handed one to Willow and took one for himself.

"Gee, thanks!" Willow's sarcasm was light hearted.

"You must become one with the written word.  Books are the true fountains of knowledge and you must embrace their power.  Shun your evil electronic computer doohickey thing and send it back from whence it came!" Xander's poor excuse for a parody of Giles set Willow giggling while Anya looked on, confused by what had just happened.

"I don't believe I've ever called it a 'doohickey'!" The voice from near the shop door took them by surprise.

"Giles! Sorry, we didn't hear you come back."  Willow stood, her giggles barely hidden beneath the serious mask she had put on her face. Xander's mind searched rapidly for a way to divert attention from the subject.

"Did you find out anything?" He blurted.

"Well yes and no.  I have found out that this girl isn't the only one to have been found dead in the last few months.  But there is absolutely no indication as to the cause of her death."  He looked drained.  The thought of a child's death was always so much harder to accept than the death of an adult.  All that innocence ripped away from them. 

"How do you know that the others are connected?" Willow posed the question delicately.

"Well, I have nothing concrete.  But the evidence I have points in that direction. Firstly, all of the victims had no discernable reason for dying.  They just seemed to have ceased being alive." He paused to take stock. "And they were all female, aged between four and eight."  He looked at the faces of his audience and could see the feeling of remorse spread across them all, even Anya's, who in the past had shown the remarkable ability to not care less unless it directly affected her.  _'Maybe being human is getting to her after all.' _Giles thought to himself as he watched her eyes begin to glisten with the moisture that welled in them.

"So, no ideas as to what might be doing this?" Xander sounded hopeful.  If anyone had a clue, Giles would be that person.

"I'm afraid not."  He removed his coat and placed it on the counter. "There are a few possibilities, but the amount of deaths and the area over which they've occurred in the time period just doesn't fit any of their behaviour patterns."  Willow shuffled her feet uncomfortably.

"How many…" She struggled to get the words to leave her throat.  "How many deaths are we talking about Giles?"  She detested thinking about it, but she needed to know.

"In total, including Jessica, there has been fourteen in California."  He studied their faces to make sure that he could give them the information that followed.  "Similar cases in the last two months across the whole of the U.S. total two hundred and thirty seven which doesn't include any undiscovered or unreported victims."

"Oh my God.  That's..That…" Willow's sentence was lost as she stumbled backwards, grief taking its toll.  Xander moved swiftly and caught her before she fell. Gently he guided her to a chair and sat her down.   Anya stepped forward and embraced Giles in a tight hug as tears began to roll down her normally rosy face.  Slightly taken aback, Giles returned the hug as he reassuringly stroked Anya's back.

After a few moments he spoke, the grief having affected him more than he would care to admit.  "I really am clueless as to what could be doing this.  But whatever it is must be stopped.  Now."

"The bastard's gonna pay!" Xander's sadness had mixed with anger.  The ferocity of the words issued from his mouth took his friends by surprise as they all stared at him.  "Sorry." Willow reached out and took his hand in hers, understanding his anguish, she squeezed softly.

**********

       Beneath the streets of Sunnydale, beneath the sewers, beneath the old tunnels that formed a labyrinthine network under the town where so many of Sunnydale's demonic interlopers had made their lair, something stirred. Something ancient. 


End file.
